Dark of the Desert Moon
by DawningAurora
Summary: We will write our sins in sand and it will be the desert wind's task to scatter them.


We will write our sins in sand and it will be the desert wind's task to scatter them.

- The Valkyries; Paulo Coelho

* * *

There is a whisper on her windowsill. She doesn't have to actually have to probe with her chakra to know who it was. A rather curt tap on her windows met her ears.

She tied to bite back her annoyance at having to drag herself from bed. Even for him. She slips on an over-robe as an exaggeration of modesty as she went to greet him. She undid the clasps on her window, hefting it over head.

Moon dappled red hair is the first thing she sees, followed by somber sea-foam-green eyes. His features were arranged into a somber expression, as was his wont. He is still clad in his usual shinobi attire and the ominous gourd that guards his back. There was a moment's tenderness that softened his gaze before being replaced by his usual serious one.

It is moments like that he wants to drag him into her arms and not let go until she has had her heart's fill of that tenderness. It is selfish but that does not diminish her desire any less. She doesn't because he would not appreciate her efforts to do so.

He is speaking to her, his quiet voice even and lilting, as he tells her that he has to leave for a mission. It is nothing that he cannot handle by himself yet he requests her to come with him. It is as close to an invitation to a date as she is ever going to get.

She assents with a spirited smile and a coquettish invitation to rest in her bed before leaving. He blushes slightly and excuses himself, quoting work. She watches him leave and her smile dims.

.*****.

They set off on their mission just as the sun crept over the horizon. They run in silence. Gaara keeps pace with her. For once, they enjoy the burn in their muscles as they push themselves harder. The desert is generously cool as they glide silently past. Tenten relishes this feeling for she is certain he shares it with no one. Gentle breezes flow around them, playing through his hair and mussing it delightfully.

He is unmindful of the sand that permeates all; instead he focusses on the rhythmic pace of his lope with a slight upward curving of lips that tell her he is enjoying this as much as she does.

They reach their destination entirely too soon. It is a rather tricky mission. They have to extract the kidnapped son of the Wind Daimyo from a band of renegade nin who congregated exclusively to cause trouble for Suna.

They had set up operations in the rocky outcrop that lined the rim of a deep chasm. If the hostage situation went from bad to worse, they might have a problem. These nin were not above threatening the life of the boy. The reports handed to Gaara stated that most of these nins still held a grudge from the previous Great Ninja War. They were composed mostly of Kumo nins. Their estimated numbers were close to thirty. Most of them were Jounin in rank. The thought did not bother them as much as it should have.

The first scout that spotted them was silenced before he could raise the alarm. Tenten manages to refrain from commenting on the serious expression on his face. It held the focus that would discompose a better man than the scout.

The second soon followed. They managed to gather the information pertaining to the entryway. They managed to enter the lair silently. The door shut behind them to the sound of the man's maniacal laughter. They soon realized why.

As soon as the door shut, the alarms gained a life of their own and began to wail. They ran through the dank passages, navigating by sound as they went deeper into the darkness. The flow of air currents cued Tenten to the fact that the area ahead was much larger than the cramped space they ran through. The odd out-of-place sounds told her that that was where the missing nin were gathering.

They turned the last corner and found the scene according to Tenten's prediction. The burly man in the center held the boy, who was trembling like a leaf in a storm, in a headlock. His minions surrounded them.

Gaara stopped and walked into the cavern. He was calm, focused and contained. The burly man in the center, on the hand, was anything but. Gaara was dwarfed by the mountains of muscle that towered over him. Paradoxically, that was what made him seem more fluid and graceful in comparison.

The kidnapper relaxed slightly as he saw that only the two shinobi were present. He suggested, in an off color aside, that perhaps Tenten was an offering to appease the men.

The innuendo did little to stop the fury simmering beneath Gaara's calm facade.

Tenten did not respond at all. She calmly stated that the men on the right side of the cave were hers for the taking. Gaara assented quite willingly. He stalked forward with steps echoing the sleekness of a jungle cat. The man took a step back.

Tenten followed with her hands already on her scroll and her mind on her most painful weapons. She moved soundlessly on feet made of shadows.

They had finished the fight in little over half an hour.

.*****.

The unforgiving afternoon sun was blazing overhead as they came out. Tenten drew two small muslin scarves and offered one to the hostage and tied the other around her face. Gaara insisted on carrying the man who seemed rather smitten with Tenten. He managed to shake off the ordeal and re-gain his good humor in a surprisingly short time.

All though the journey he found that every time he attempted to good naturedly propose to Tenten, the seat of sand beneath him grew hotter. Dismissing the peculiarity as a trick of the heat, he continued to get his advances firmly and perpetually rebuffed.

Evening had fallen by the time the gates of the Daimyo's palace came in view. Gaara had mulishly refused all offers of help, intending to carry the man the entire way. Yet he was breathing hard as he deposited the Daimyo's son to his father.

At the urging of his son, the Daimyo offered a feast to celebrate his son's safe return. Tenten and Gaara were to be the guests of honor. They attempted to wriggle out of the engagement and found themselves being wheedled more inescapably into it. A few fruitless minutes spent arguing..

"We are unworthy of your esteemed attentions, Daimyo-sama"

"Nonsense! You have just returned my most prized possession to me. I must reward you.."

Turned up naught so she acquiesced saying..

"My will is yours to command."

Gaara inclined his head in defeat as he wasn't going to leave Tenten alone.

The festivities lasted all through the night. The story of his rescue grew in proportion to the amount of wine consumed. Tenten seemed to have fended off a mountain full of men all by herself and Gaara battled man-eating, fire-breathing dragons. Tenten spent the miserable evening with a painted smile that hurt her cheeks and a growing desire to pulverize the audacious bratling.

By the time it was acceptable enough for them to excuse themselves from the festivities, most of the leaders were in a state of drunken celebration that had made Tenten almost swear off drinking for the rest of her life. Since there was no one to stop them, Tenten managed to shake off her human leech by shoving his face (discreetly and satisfyingly) into a creamy desert dessert.

There was a moment of silence before a muffled snore emerged from the cream. Unable to shake off her incredulity by looks alone, Tenten did it by issuing a colorful oath.

The other 'dignitaries' were too busy snorting in an undignified way to notice. Gaara rose with her and as per Suna custom, she let him precede her.

On their way out they were intercepted by the servants who insisted that they rest in one of the suites until they were refreshed. Sighing gustily, Tenten followed Gaara to their suite.

They were led to a shamefully opulent suite. Their rooms were adjoined. The servants left them saying they would be just a call away if they needed anything. It just translated to 'don't try escaping, we won't let you go'.

When they leave, Tenten attempts to stifle her yawn and go to the smaller room. She finds herself waylaid by Gaara. He wordlessly takes her hand and leads her to a cushion. To her surprise, she finds his hands on her back. She is tense and volatile. He asks her to relax and she tries.

When his hands find their way to her shoulder, hesitant and insistent, she yields to him willingly and without reserve. His hands knead her shoulders in relaxing and repetitive patterns. All too soon, she feels all the tension within seep away by his attentive ministrations. And so, it serves as something of a shock to her relaxed and languorous mind when his hands were replaced by his lips. Also clumsily tentative.

The moment passed and so did her shock. She arched her neck back so that she could see him. With a teasing twinkle in her eyes she declaimed, "Aha! So that was your pernicious plot all along!"

He half-smirks and proceeds to pepper her forehead with tiny, barely-there kisses that ghost over her skin. She shivers in response. He pauses for a moment, seemingly lost to his thoughts. She feels more than sees the shadow of doubt flit through his eyes.

She turns him to her, placing him the way he placed her. She sits cross legged on his knees. She intends to return the favor. She takes his hand in hers, slowly rubbing patterns and peace into his hands. He does not relax completely but it is a start.

She works her way over his entire arm, ghosting fingers, kisses and sometimes nails and at other times she massages it. By the time she covered both his arms, he is shivering lightly.

She teases him by ever so slowly kissing her way up his neck. His eyes remain closed but there is a very slight tremble in his lips. She doesn't stop as his hands rest on either side of her midriff. She doesn't stop as they slide ever so slowly lower.

She pauses for a minute to drink in the sight of his eyes on hers as their noses touch. They are intense and for a minute she hesitates. Then the moment is lost as he claims her lips with his own.

The kiss is long, slow and achingly sweet. It is everything fairytales advertise it to be. Tenten felt as though she were made of happiness itself. But something changes then.

He changes. He is no longer hesitant, no longer gentle. Instead he is insistent and fierce. He devours her. Somewhere along the line, she realizes can taste blood in her kiss. A sting tells her it is her own.

She tries to tell him to stop but he grows more insistent. She tries to push him away but he grows stronger. With a surge of chakra she pushes him away. When she is free of him, she sees the black in his eyes. Dark and glazed with twisted desire. The Shukaku. It is smiling as it laps up the blood on its lips. Her blood.

The shiver that ran through her is not one of desire but that of fear. She swallows the fear choking her from within just as Gaara tries to subdue the beast. With a final look at her that chills her to the bone, it is gone.

They look at the beautiful patterns in the antique rug. They do not dare to speak to look at the other. The awkwardness hangs in the air.

He roughly wipes away the remaining blood and goes to find her some ice with a muttered excuse.

When he leaves, she slumps back into her chair.

Yet she stays. She stays as he brings her ice, and attends to her with the most extravagant of courtesies. She stays as he attempts to apologize through his actions. She stays and survives the days of broody, embarrassed silence. The way he would not look her in the eyes without her coaxing. She stays for Gaara.

She knows this cannot go on. She knows that one day she would be too tilted off kilter by her encounters with the beast.

.

.

.

.

.

She stays until she can't anymore.

.

.

.

.*****.

Just don't ask..

Aurora


End file.
